


the way the corner cuts your lips

by feralphoenix



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other, Quadrant Confusion, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: No school means no magic closet portal to another world, and no magic closet portal to another world means no visiting all your other friends. You make do.





	the way the corner cuts your lips

**Author's Note:**

> _(get rid of the pain of being a man_ – you keep the way you’ve received this in the best of your pockets)
> 
>  
> 
> the protagonist here has intimacy issues for reasons left as vague and open to interpretation as possible, to suit what we already know and don't yet know about their background.
> 
> the jeez-its joke comes from [this post](http://i-have-no-gender-only-rage.tumblr.com/post/178742583032/finally-a-petition-i-can-get-behind), which a friend linked on twitter saying that the protag probably started this petition. i agree tbh
> 
> title and epigraph are both lines from the kississippi song "shamer".

“Where the _fuck,”_ Susie says, scowling at you from behind the thick curtain of her bangs, “did you get that?”

You set your foot in the grass all tentative and look at the fat bag of marshmallows in your right hand, then wag it at her. “Bought it,” you say. “At the grocery store. It’s too big to hide it in my shirt, and also, I’m not just eating it by myself. Didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

It would’ve served that shitty skeleton right if you’d been able to shoplift it, but also you want to be around him literally as little as you possibly can. You don’t need him snitching on you to your mom, and you incredibly do not need him leering at you insinuating that he’s fucking your mom. Granted, buying the marshmallows means you’re out your last two bucks, but this is also the good stuff—you can’t get better than this except at the diner, where they make their own—and nothing matters anyway so you might as well treat Susie anyway.

“Uh, that’s sweet, I, guess???” Susie says. “But I didn’t mean the marshmallows, my guy. I meant _that.”_

And she points to the tall red bottle in your left hand. You turn to look at it theatrically, mouth popping open in a round O like you’ve never seen the thing before, for her benefit.

“I,” you say, and start giggling, “stole it from church, duh. They have the _best_ sssssssssick fruit juice.”

“Your mom is going to have a heart attack if she finds out about that,” says Susie. “I can’t believe she doesn’t know her kid is such a _delinquent.”_

“Nah,” you tell her. “She’ll just kill me, I’m used to it.” You can’t even remember the last time a day passed without her getting all disappointed and overwrought at you about how lazy you are or getting suspicious that you’re up to no good a la Asriel’s Golden Prank Hits Of Yore and threatening to make you pay for the damages. Frankly it’s depressing to try to remember the last time you got through twenty-four hours without a Mom Lecture. At least now you’ve spent the last of your money on snacks there’s none for her to take. Sorry, Mom.

“Okay,” she says, and pats the ground between her knees. “Sit down, you weirdo.”

You sit. You maybe don’t do such a great job at it—you nearly overbalance backwards, unable to put a hand down to catch yourself because you don’t want to crush the marshmallows or break the wine bottle. Susie rescues you with a hand on your back.

“You’re acting really weird, even for you,” she says, and narrows her eyes, looking down her snout at you. “And you _smell_ weird. Are you _drunk?”_

“I am _not_ drunk,” you tell her firmly. “I’m _buzzed.”_

“Oh my god???” Susie says, and starts to laugh a little. “What’s that like?”

“It’s great. Everything’s bright and fun and I don’t have to feel anything. Doesn’t hurt to feel like nothing. Little dizzy, though.” You hold up the bottle. “You wanna try?”

She gives you what you think passes for a dubious look and takes it from you. Then she gives the bottle a dubious look and hooks her claws into the cork, pulling.

You tug at the sides of the marshmallow bag until it splits open, and nearly overbalance again. This time Susie shifts in her seat against the tree so that the leg behind you is the one that’s up, and the one in front of you stretches out, so you wind up leaning against her thigh. You relax automatically at the feel of someone else’s body heat against your back and have to immediately fight the urge to stand back up and flee because if you tried you’d probably just trip.

And also, you think that might hurt Susie’s feelings? And you don’t want to do that.

“Just drink a little,” you say, “’cause if you have too much on an empty stomach you could get sick, or get drunk.”

“Okay, _mom,”_ says Susie, and she lifts the bottle to her mouth and takes a swig as if to announce that you’re not the boss of her. Immediately her face contorts and she puts the bottle down. “Oh, _eugh,_ this is nasty as hell??? No thanks, you can keep it.”

“Suit yourself.” You pluck a marshmallow out of the bag instead and hold it up at her. Instead of taking it with her hands like a normal person Susie leans forward and _eats it out of your fingers,_ which makes your heart skip and you shiver. There’s a brush of something leathery and warm against your fingers and then the touch of something hot and wet and you almost pop up and flee again, half of you wants that to happen again right now, wants it to happen again _forever,_ but the other half of you doesn’t and has had enough of close contact for the rest of your life.

Despite her giant pointy knife mouth, she didn’t even manage to prick you.

You wipe your hand on your pants and grab marshmallows with your other hand, popping them into your mouth one by one. They’re sweet and pillowy and melt away quickly without you having to chew more than once or twice. If you just close your eyes and wish hard enough you could be little again, sitting on your dad’s lap or something, back in the old days before you really understood what it meant to be human and before the bad things started happening, back before everything with Asriel got so…

“Hold me,” you croak out loud to stop yourself from sliding headfirst down the rabbit hole.

And Susie does. She lays one arm across your waist and the other over your shoulders, both light enough that you could push her off if you wanted, sort of tilting you up against her chest. You turn your cheek so that your face is pressed up against her shirt and inhale. Smells like cinders and day-old sweat.

“This, uh, good?”

You curl up around the marshmallow bag, pressing yourself more firmly against her front. Your shoulder’s probably poking her somewhere uncomfortable but she doesn’t complain. “Hold me harder.”

“Uhh… sure????” She digs her fingers in and grips you tighter, holding you snug against her body. You doubt you’d be able to push her away now.

“Harder.”

“I’m not gonna crush you to death, buddy,” Susie says. She rests her chin on top of your head instead. “That would be gross.”

You want pressure, arms like steel bands pinning you in place. You want to stop thinking. You want the familiar sensation of drifting away from your body so you can feel stuffy-headed and empty forever. Next week feels so distant but also stiflingly close. Maybe if you run away to the dark world, escape deep enough into it, you’ll never have to come back home. Maybe if you’re there long enough you can force time to stop.

“I kinda suck at cuddling anyway,” Susie goes on. “Like, I can try to tide you over until we can cross back over and you can see Ralsei if you _really_ want, but maybe after that you should just ask him.”

You squirm a little in Susie’s hold so her arm will put more pressure against your back—it still aches from where she slammed you into the lockers the other day. “Ralsei is too…”

Susie waits for almost a minute as you search for the right word, but finally her patience runs out. “Too goody-goody?”

You wonder if she’s being deliberate about avoiding his resemblance to Asriel or if it genuinely hasn’t occurred to her. Maybe the former. Susie is a far kinder person than you’ve ever given her credit for, even if she’s usually awkward at it.

“Too… untouched,” you finish at last. “Too clean.”

Again the split: Half of you desperately wants her to understand what you mean just with those words, and the other half desperately hopes she won’t.

“Huh,” is all she says, though, sounding thoughtful.

“He’s just so—happy and—and eager to please.” You could tear him apart if you wanted to, ruin him the way you feel ruined. His having Asriel’s face—sometimes you want to, just because Ralsei’s not untouchable like him, not perfect, not universally beloved.

So, you can’t go to him for comfort like this, because you’re a horrible person. Susie is—better, safer. Knows what the real world is like. Has her own damage. Would probably not hesitate to bite your face off, literally, if you did anything she doesn’t like.

You almost wish the player would come back quickly. Maybe this time they’ll just blot you out altogether and you won’t have to feel like this anymore. Fold you down so small and thin that you’ll stop taking up any space at all.

God, you just want to evaporate.

“Maybe I am a little drunk after all,” is all you say out loud.

Susie runs her claws through your hair and laughs low in her chest. It rumbles against your cheek and makes you feel fluttery and fluid inside—again you’re unsure whether to stay still and bask in the sensation or flee. “What, that only just dawn on you, dumbass?”

You wind your arms around her waist and scrape your knuckles on the bark of the tree trunk behind her, giggling. “We should do this again tomorrow, ‘stead of going to church. I can sneak you snacks from home ‘cause they taste better than the stupid Jeez-Its anyway.”

And that way you can put off, for at least a little longer, Noelle giving you puppy dog eyes from across the room in hopes that you’ll introduce her and Susie properly at last. Even just for a few more days—just until the end of the week—you’re allowed to keep Susie for yourself for that long, aren’t you? Because if she and Noelle hit it off, if Susie decides she likes Noelle too, then you’ll be back to having no friends in this world at all.

You’re so damn tired of being alone. You don’t want anyone to look at you or speak to you ever again. You want to die, you want to flee into the dark and live there, safe. You can’t decide what you want the most, which probably makes you a fickle asshole on top of being the worst person in the world.

“I _guess,”_ Susie says. “Not like I’ve got anything better to do. What excuse are you gonna give your mom, though?”

Oh, right. “……I can say we’re working on our group project.”

“Oh shit, yeah, I guess we _do_ technically have to do that, don’t we,” Susie says. “Eh, we can just leave it ‘til the last minute.”

Your project’s probably gonna turn out exactly like the thrash machine at this rate, and that thought makes you giggle uncontrollably.

Up against your flank, Susie’s stomach gurgles.

“So do I get any more of those marshmallows?” she says.

“Yeah,” you tell her, kneading the plastic. “You can have half.”

You uncurl enough to hold out the bag to her, and she lets go of you with one arm to help herself to a handful. You turn so that your back’s pressed up against her front and she’s still got one arm around your waist, and take a handful for yourself. Yours has fewer marshmallows in it, since you have smaller hands. Probably her half of the bag is going to be more like two thirds, but you’ll still get some, so you guess you’ll live.

You’ve blown two bucks on stupider stuff, and you’ve spent far worse Saturdays than staring blankly up at the gray sky and the turning leaves with a friend.


End file.
